


Love, Me

by ficdirectory



Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe, Cerebral Palsy, Disability, Disuphere Universe, Gen, Panic Attacks, Protective Siblings, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2020-01-06 13:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18389753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficdirectory/pseuds/ficdirectory
Summary: Francesca Adams Foster has waited her entire life to move out…and now, it’s finally happening.  This story contains major spoilers for Found (#5 in the Disuphere series.)





	Love, Me

_ Dear Journal, _

 

_ Francesca here.  (New journal, new intro.  Deal with it.) _

 

_ My roommate is Giselle Smith.  You heard that right. I’m finally on my own!  Elle’s mom just left so, finally, it’s just us!  We’ve been best friends since the day we met, practically, and I slept over there a lot, so I don’t think being roommates will be that different. _

 

_ Giselle has the best comfiest style and the best hair and glasses.  Her laugh is infectious. She’s still like, pocket-sized tiny, but there’s no one more loyal or honest than her.  I can always count on the truth from her, even if it’s not what I want to hear. _

 

_ I know it’s not the best thing to do, but I do find myself comparing my looks and myself to her.  I hate my voice. I hate my laugh, even if I love my friend, Nico’s, and he has CP, too, like us. I just don’t like how I sound.  And I’m always worried about saying something people will think is ridiculous. I used to be really outgoing as a kid but over the years, I’ve pulled back. _

 

_ I think it’s because I’ve learned how bad things can get if I’m really honest.  Especially after Mariana moved out, I just kinda went internal and started spending a ton of time at the Smiths’.  Once I turned sixteen, there wasn’t a lot Moms could do to keep me at home. Giselle and I are basically like sisters. _

 

_ But back to living on my own. _

 

_ And it’s not like we won’t have help if we need it.  Everybody here has a “person” (yes, Grey’s reference, still love that show!) who helps them out and supports them in whatever ways we need.  It’s not really my thing. It’s hard to trust people that aren’t The Avoiders. _

 

_ Speaking of them.  Giselle and I aren’t really alone.  Jesus and Dominique are above us, on the third floor, still across the hall from each other.  Mariana and Levi live together down on the first floor in a two bedroom. And Pearl is here on the end of the hall on the second floor, same as us. _

 

_ I kinda was hoping it might be just Elle and me representing on the second floor but it is also kinda nice having Pearl as backup on the same floor. _

 

_ Love, Me _

 

“So, when do we, like, pay bills?” Giselle asks.

 

“The first.  Jesus says even if they’re due a little later, mail them on the first so they have plenty of time to get there.” Fran tells her.

 

Giselle’s eighteen, so everything about living on her own is still really new.  Francesca doesn’t mind explaining stuff because everything was new to her once, too.  It’s not Giselle’s fault that Fran’s been ready to move out of her parents’ house since she was like, ten years old.

 

Things are better now, but Francesca still doesn’t like to look back at those years.  She’s glad that she and Mariana made it out of there and can be happy here. (When Pearl moved in here a few years ago, she started calling Gateway “Avoidance” as a joke.  But it’s way better to actually be able to live in Avoidance than to just go there every once in a while.)

 

“So, did we pay them already for the month, or do we still have to?” Giselle worries.

 

“We did, when I called to set up cable and stuff.  We’ll write it down, so we won’t forget.”

 

“Because I don’t wanna mess up and, like, get kicked out…” 

 

“Here.  Catch,” Fran says, tossing Giselle Fran’s favorite bright purple stress ball, in a gentle, underhanded drop.    

 

“I was gonna say!  You know CP and catching don’t mix!” Giselle laughs.

 

“I know.  I’ve got your back,” Fran reassures.  She likes being able to help Giselle. There were a lot of years when Francesca basically cornered the market on needing help and lucky for her, she had The Avoiders.  Being able to help somebody else is good, though. It builds that muscle, as Dominique says. (Whatever the helping muscle is…)

 

Giselle knows The Avoiders but she isn’t really that comfortable with all of them at once.  She’s better one on one with people.

 

The stress ball squishes with gel and has little knobs on the outside.  Dominique had a similar one years ago that Fran loved. This one is even better.

 

“We’re gonna be fine,” Fran says.  “Pearl’s down the hall if we need something.  My brother’s upstairs. My sister’s downstairs.  And your mom basically said to call anytime because she wants to come over and see our apartment and hang out.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Giselle laughs.  “That is true. She’s busy with Gil and Lea, though, so that should be enough to keep her away for a while.  I love her, but she kind of hovers…”

 

“I wish  _ my _ moms hovered,” Francesca remarks dryly.  “But it’s like, ‘ _ Do you have a job?  Why not? You can’t expect to live on your own if you don’t have a job-- _ ”

 

“And you were like, ‘ _ Actually, I can…’ _ ” Giselle interjects.

 

“Right, yeah!  Actually, there are ways to live on my own without exhausting myself in the process…”

 

_ Tap-tap-tap. _

 

Giselle and Francesca both jump as someone knocks at the door.  It’s late. Like 10 PM. Who could be knocking?

 

Fran walk to the door, taking one of Elle’s crutches from the corner as a weapon.  Francesca holds it tight and look out the spyhole, expelling an exasperated breath.

 

“It’s just Pearl and Cleo,” Fran tells Giselle over her shoulder.  (Giselle still looks tense.)

 

“Hey,” Pearl greets.  “You two okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Fran nods.  “Just thought you were…” she trails off, not wanting to hurt Pearl’s feelings.

 

“She thought you were here to murder us,” Giselle supplies, coming up next to Fran.

 

“Oh.”  Pearl looks only minorly startled by Elle’s statement.  “Well, I’ll be sure to identify myself from now on… Looks great in here…”

 

“Yup…” Fran says, and it’s one-hundred percent awkward.  “So...did you check in on Levi like this?”

 

“At first,” Pearl nods.

 

“So, is there gonna be a whole parade of you coming by?” Francesca asks.

 

“Not if you don’t want us to,” Pearl reassures.  “I just...I’m the closest and I thought I’d check in.”

 

“No, I want you to.  Sorry. I’m just being a brat.  It’s been a long day. But I love it here.  No stairs.”

 

“Oh, did you see our shower?” Giselle asks.  “It’s huge and flat. I can roll in if I want.”

 

“Totally enough room for a shower chair,” Fran adds.

 

“Awesome,” Pearl says.  “Well, I’m going to bed.  Say goodnight, Cleo.” 

 

(Cleo just snores.  She’s gotten tired in her old age.)

 

“Be sure to lock the door behind me.” Pearl reminds.

 

“We will,” Fran says.

 

\--

 

It’s surprising that Jesus doesn’t show.  Dominique either. But Fran knows she can call if she needs them.  Mariana Polos them before bed.

 

“Hey…” Mariana says.  “You guys okay?” she asks.

 

“Yeah,” Fran nods.  “We’re probably just going to bed soon.”

 

“Alright, well Levi and I are downstairs if you need us,” Mariana reassures.  “Love you.”

 

“Was it weird when you first moved in here?” Fran asks, from her bed.  Giselle is climbing in her own across their small bedroom. They only have a one-bedroom since that opened up first, and Francesca needed to get the heck away from home.

 

“Yeah, a little,” Mari nods.  “Weird freedom.”

 

“Exactly!” Fran exclaims.  “It’s so weird! We, like, made popcorn at 12:30 in the morning, and no one cared.”

 

“And the support, too,” Mariana adds.  “Sometimes, I still feel like I shouldn’t...you know...need it, or whatever?”

 

“Yeah, it like...feels unnecessary…” Francesca nods.

 

“Okay, so my mom is calling me,” Giselle calls from across the room.  

 

“Oh.  Gotta go, Mari.  Love you.”

 

\--

 

It’s after 1 AM, and Laura Elizabeth finally has a free moment.  They had a full day that turned into a fuller night. Helping Giselle and Francesca with their move and then going over to the high school for Gil’s choir concert.  (His first year in Concert Choir. So amazing.) Lea (twelve now, please God, stop them from growing up so fast) had been enthralled and told Laura no less than twenty times that when she gets to high school, she’s going to be in choir just like Gil and Giselle before him.

 

She’s hoping that like most kids out of high school, Giselle and Fran are celebrating their freedom by keeping late hours, even though Elle still needs a solid nine hours for optimal health and functioning.  They don’t have anything going on tomorrow as far as Laura knows, so sleeping in should be okay.

 

“Hey, Giselle.  Sorry it’s so late.  Gil killed it at his choir concert though,” Laura insists.

 

“That’s good,” Giselle yawns.  “All of Fran’s friends are checking on us, too.”

 

“That’s what I like to hear.” Laura says.

 

“I thought it was a murderer, but it was just Pearl,” Giselle explains.

 

Francesca tries to muffle her laughter, as Laura says, “ _ Not _ what I like to hear…  But you’re okay?”

 

“Yeah, calming down.” Giselle confirms.

 

(Francesca knows what she means.  Her own heart is still racing a little.  Damn startle reflex.)

 

“Okay, well, good night.  Love you both. Call if you need me.  No matter the time. Fran, you, too.”

 

“I will,” Francesca nods, feeling a weird ache in her chest.  Probably because her own moms never said stuff like that.

 

\--

 

Giselle’s asleep and snoring when Fran picks up her phone and opens her email.  The account she’d made on the DL the second she turned eighteen. She reads:

 

_ Dear Francesca, _

 

_ Let me know when you move.  I’d be glad to help. Or when you’re all settled if you’d like to meet up somewhere.  I know it’s been hard not having your own space, but now that you have it, and a bit of freedom, I’d love to get to know you. _

 

_ Timothy _

 

_ \-- _

 

_ Dear Timothy, _

 

_ All moved in.  I’d love to meet up somewhere kinda public, kinda private.  Know anywhere like that? I want to get to know you, too. _

 

_ Francesca _

 

_ \-- _

 

It’s the weirdest thing to be able to just email Timothy now whenever she wants.  To not feel watched. To not have the feeling of “Oh, no…” that has been inside her, ever since Moms went off on her, back when she was eleven.

 

But Francesca’s twenty now, and she’s out of Moms’ house, so they can’t be all about what she says or does.  She can do what she wants and make her own choices.

 

Giselle’s person, Maria, is here right away in the morning, and Fran wants to give Giselle as much privacy as she needs to do whatever.  Also, Francesca is actually uncomfortable. Being raised in a house where needing help was frowned upon at least, has left its mark on Fran.  She’s hoping that living here, will leave a bigger one.

 

So, Fran makes her bed and gets dressed.  Ignores calls from Stef and Lena asking if she’s up and moving yet.

 

Fran rides the elevator upstairs, and stops off at Jesus’s apartment first.

 

“Hey, can you give me a ride somewhere, sometime?” she asks.

 

“That’s specific,” he teases.  “Come in. You want coffee or tea or something?”

 

Fran smiles.  Jesus has this thing about him.  He always just knows if you’ve eaten a meal or not.  If you’re hungry. And even if you’re not, he still offers you something to eat or drink.

 

(Francesca’s not naive.  Now that she’s older, she’s asked Jesus if he minds her asking him more questions about his childhood.  About what happened to him those four years when he was missing. He said it would be easier if she did her own looking and came to him if she wondered anything specific.

 

Learning about how Jesus’s friend, Isaac, died, had been the worst.)

 

Francesca knows that’s still hard for him, even though he’s been home almost as long as Fran has been alive.

 

She does come in, Jesus’s place feeling the most like home of anywhere Fran has ever been.

 

“So...why the getaway car?” he asks, setting coffee in front of her.

 

“It’s not,” Fran laughs.  “It’s… Okay, do you remember Timothy?”

 

“I remember you telling me he was your bio dad...not much else.” Jesus confirms, sitting down across from her.  His service dog, Dudley, snores under the table.

 

“Okay so...would you be mad if I said I’ve been talking to him?  Emailing? Like, for a couple years? Since the contract thingy he signed pretty much forbade him from contact until I turned eighteen...I figured…”

 

“Yeah.  Once you’re eighteen, it’s your life.  And, buddy, I’m not mad at you for that.  Don’t forget, Mari and I have bio parents, too--”

 

“Yeah, that you  _ know _ .  That you didn’t have to grow up with as a secret shame thing.”

 

“Mariana and I did our own digging on our bio dad when we were around that age.  Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen? We didn’t always know him.”

 

“Oh,” Fran says.  “Well, anyway. We’ve been emailing.  He knows I moved out now, and he was asking if I wanna meet somewhere and like, talk?  And I do. But I don’t feel comfortable being one-hundred percent on my own… Is that, like, immature?”

 

“No.  I think it’s really smart,” Jesus says.  “Where were you gonna meet?”

 

“We haven’t really figured that out?  I suggested somewhere kinda public, kinda private?”

 

“Like the Coffee Corner, where I met Laura Elizabeth back in the day?” Jesus suggests.

 

“Ooh, yeah.  That’s an idea,” Fran nods.  “Do you think you’d be able to drive me?  I mean, I  _ could _ walk.  It’s just kinda far…” Fran hedges.

 

“Well, it depends on when it is.  But if not me, then Dom, or Levi or Pearl could probably do it.  Even Laura would do it, I bet, if you asked.”

 

“Yeah, but I hate asking.  You don’t have to do that, because you can drive.  Makes me feel like a big fat burden…” Fran complains.  “Even though Moms kinda laid off about a lot of stuff in middle school, once I hit sixteen, they kinda expected me to drive.  And when I couldn’t...they just…” she shrugs.

 

“Hey.  You are the biggest, fattest light in my life.  Don’t you ever forget it, okay?” he tells her. “The opposite of a burden.  I’m always happy to drive you. I just need details, okay? That’s all I’m saying.  And that there’s backup, if, for some reason, I can’t do it.”

 

“You’re not disappointed?” Fran checks.  “Because it was kind of a huge deal the last time I told anybody about this…”

 

“Francesca, I get it.  I get being curious. You have the right to know about your bio dad.  And if he wants to sit down with you and you wanna sit down with him, then I think you should.  You’re both adults. You can make that call now.”

 

“I know…” Fran mutters.

 

“Really?” he asks gently.  “‘Cause it kinda seems like you’re holding your breath, just waiting for Moms to tell you that you can’t.”

 

“How long does that last?” Francesca asks, letting out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

 

“I’ll let you know when I know,” Jesus tells her, smiling sadly.  

 

“So, okay.  I don’t wanna bug you so I’m gonna go back and watch Netflix or something.  Bye.”

 

“Whoa.  Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says, and Fran stops, just short of the door.

 

“What?”

 

Jesus walks up to her.  “You are not bothering me.  I love that you live here now.  ‘Cause it means we finally get to hang out even more.  Will you let me know the details so I can help? Drive you, and stuff?” he asks.

 

“Sure,” she says, biting her lip and smiling.  “I’ll let you know when I know.” She opens the door.  Steps out into the hall.

 

“Alright.  Miss you, buddy,” he calls after her.

 

(She grew up hearing Jesus and Mari say ‘Miss you’ for ‘Love you’ and it seems to have stuck, at least with Jesus. Fran doesn’t mind.  It  _ is _ easier to say.)

 

Fran waves, one hand in the air as she walks away. “Miss you, too, buddy,” she echoes.

 

\--

 

Since Francesca’s not one-hundred percent sure how long Maria will be at their place with Giselle, she goes across the hall and knocks on Dominique’s door.  Lena (not Mama, but Dominique’s person with the same name) answers.

 

“Hi,” Fran greets.  She’s known Lena about as long as she’s known Dominique.  “Hey, Dom? It’s Francesca. I’m bored. Can I come in?”

 

“Sure,” Dominique calls.  “I’m in the costume room with Ernie.”

 

Dominique just got a new cat a few months ago.  It’s taken her a while. She was so heartbroken after losing Roberta, but she discovered this super rare calico cat who was a boy.  Ernie kind of looks like he’s come through a fire. He’s kinda brown and kinda black, mixed together with green eyes. Dom said she couldn’t bear to get another long-haired Persian after Roberta, so it’s a good thing Ernie isn’t.

 

“Hey,” Fran greets.  “It’s so cool to just be able to ride the elevator up and visit you whenever now.”

 

“I know.  So, how’d you sleep?” Dom wonders, as Ernie climbs into her lap.  (She finally figured out registering him as an ESA so that she doesn’t have to pay hundreds of extra dollars a month to keep him here like when she had Roberta.  It’s a good thing. Fran is still pretty scared about money. Like Giselle.)

 

“Pretty good, I guess.  It still stinks like paint in there, though.  Giselle wants to cut an onion or something, to absorb the smell but I don’t wanna cry every time I go in there…”

 

“Huh.  Never heard of that…” Dominique muses.

 

“Hey, so, if Jesus can’t drive me to this thing, can you?” Fran asks, holding out a piece of yarn for Ernie.  

 

“This thing have a name?” Dominique wonders.

 

“Coffee or something...with Timothy…” Fran admits.

 

“Hey!  That’s amazing!  So, it’s finally happening…” Dominique says, smiling.

 

“It is, I guess…” Fran nods.

 

“How do you feel about it?” Dom asks.

 

“Kinda...dreadful?  Not like terrible. But like, full of dread…” Fran clarifies.  She’s watching Dominique paint a pair of white shoes so they sparkle gold.  Ernie’s left her lap to go lay on the wide windowsill and watch birds.

 

“Ah…  Because?” Dominique asks, touching up the shoe.

 

“Because...what if it doesn’t work out?  What if I get there and he ends up treating me like before?”

 

It’s been nine years, but the memory of Timothy giving sixth grade Fran a very cold shoulder has stayed with her.  It’s why she was so surprised at his quick response both back when she first emailed him, and now.

 

“Or what if…” Fran ventures.  

 

Dominique glances up.  “What were you saying, babe?” she asks.

 

Just that one word makes tears come to Francesca’s eyes.  It’s a tenderness that Stef and Lena never used with her. But Dominique always has.  It lets Fran know how fully one person can care about another.

 

Francesca clears her throat.  “It’s probably stupid…” She needs her voice to stop tensing.  Dropping. Making her sound like an intense, nervous man. Add that to the list of CP things she wishes she could trade in for, say, the unconditional love of a parent.  Concern. Warmth.

 

Dominique inches closer.  Distantly, Fran can hear her Lena leaving.  The door closing. 

 

They’re alone.  So, Francesca lets herself cry.  Lets Dominique hold her.

 

But once she thinks she’s done, all Fran wants to do is vacate, like, yesterday.  It’s so embarrassing to be so weak.

 

She pulls back, ready to retreat.

 

“Francesca.  Slow breaths, babe.  Slow down. You don’t have to go anywhere.  Not if you’re not ready.” Dominique insists gently.

 

Fran angrily swipes a hand across her eyes.  Even though they’re blurry, she can see the scar on her knee from that day, years ago.  Just seeing it forces the words deeper inside.

 

She has no idea how (or if) she should admit that after all these years, this is still a thing for her.  (And it doesn’t help that she can’t stop crying.)

 

Anxiety is a wall she can’t climb.

 

Panic is a strong wind that carries Francesca’s brittle leaf-self away with it.

 

For the first time since she’s been here, Fran thinks about Magic Carpeting her feelings.  But if she does that, she’ll just get faker and faker. And the whole point of living here was to be able to be her. To be real.

 

As if she can sense this, Dominique grabs a blanket from the costume room chair and drapes it around Francesca.  She pulls up Harry Potter soundtracks on Spotify on her phone. And then hands it to Fran to be in charge of. The music is the perfect distraction and backdrop, both, for Fran to let her feelings be known.

 

“I’m scared…” she whispers as ominous music plays from the phone in her shaking hand.  Dominique’s arm is still around her. Finding its way home again, once she’d given Fran all the things in arms’ reach to cope with.

 

Dom just waits, holding onto her.

 

“I know it’s irrational...but...like...I have this feeling?  That Stef is gonna arrest me if I do this?”

 

“Sounds like your brain’s merged two really stressful times in your life into one,” Dominique offers.  

 

“What?” Fran asks.

 

“Stef did threaten you like that, but Timothy had nothing to do with it.  Six months or so before, you fell at school and got into all kinds of trouble for it.  Including her threatening you with jail. The Timothy thing happened months later, and she didn’t threaten you then.” Dominique explains patiently.

 

“So, why do I feel like this?” Fran asks, feeling hopeless.  “Maybe it is stupid. Maybe I shouldn’t even do it…” 

 

“Slow down,” Dominique encourages.  “Slow breath. Here, let’s…” she reaches over and searches for “Chill playlist” and then plays one.

 

Fran covers her face and moans.  She’s such a hot mess, it’s ridiculous.  

 

For a while, Dominique just holds her, rocking a little, and singing along to the first song on the Chill list that Fran didn’t even know she knew.

 

It takes a while.  For the tension in her right side to ease.  For Fran to be able to even draw a deep breath.  But Dominique makes it clear. 

 

She’s here.

 

She has nowhere to be.

 

It’s been at least a half hour, by the time Fran nods a little.  “What were you saying?” Fran asks, her voice quiet. Timid.

 

“Okay.  You hear me talking to you?” Dominique asks, resting her chin on Fran’s head.

 

Fran nods.

 

“Okay.  You’re with me, right now.  You’re not back there. You’re safe.” Dominique goes through slowly, point by point.

 

“I know…” Francesca objects, feeling impatient.

 

“Tell me,” Dominique prompts, gentle.  “Go slow.”

 

“I’m with you right now.  I’m not back there. I’m safe,” Francesca repeats, feeling impossibly small.  Feeling like this is stupid. Like she’s taking all of Dominique’s time.

 

“That’s the truth,” Dominique tells her.  

 

Dominique pauses then, listening as Fran loops the song Dominique had been singing.  By now, Fran has started picking it up, and they sing it together for a bit. 

 

And there’s nothing more calming than singing.

 

After they do that, Fran really (finally) feels ready to take in more, without her trauma rejecting compassion-laced reality like it’s a virus.

 

\--

 

She risks a look at Dom.  But Dominique is just there, waiting.  Her expression concerned.

 

“Tell me,” Fran implores, begging for more truth to ground her.

 

“Stef does not know you’re doing this.  Right?” Dominique checks, her voice centering Francesca with its certainty.

 

“Right.  She doesn’t,” Fran confirms.

 

“She doesn’t know you’re about to talk to Timothy,” Dominique repeats for a good measure.  “She can’t arrest you for something that she doesn’t know about. For something that’s not a crime.”

 

“She just...she’s said...he’s not allowed to talk to me.” Francesca admits, drawing a shaky breath.

 

“So, your brain drew a conclusion based on context clues.   _ She  _ threatened you with jail.  Not him. For far less than this.  But you’re both grown now. You can make your own decisions and she doesn’t have power - legal or otherwise - to stop you.  She knew her dad her whole life. You have every right to know yours.” Dominique reassures.

 

Francesca blows out a breath.  “Thanks...for talking me down…” 

 

“Anytime.  And I’d be glad to drive you if I can.  My schedule’s on the fridge if you wanna coordinate with it.”

 

Fran takes Dominique’s offered hand and stands up.  Walks to the kitchen. “Yeah. If today’s too soon--”

 

“It’s not,” Dominique reassures.

 

“Okay, well if it doesn’t work for Timothy for some reason…  Could we do tomorrow afternoon?”

 

“Sure,” Dominique nods.  “You want a hug?”

 

“You just hugged me for a solid twenty minutes.  Are you sure you’re not over it?” Fran asks.

 

“Never,” Dom reassures.  “I have unlimited hugs for you babe.  As long as you want them.”

 

Fran awkwardly shuffles to the side and into Dominique’s embrace.  At five feet, she’s not very tall. At 5’4” Dom says she’s not either, but she’s easily taller than Fran.  Most people are. Except Giselle, who’s still 4’10”.

 

She curls up on Dom’s couch with her and Ernie and her journal.

 

_ Dear Journal. _

 

_ So, wow, am I a mess!  I just cried all over Dominique, because of something Stef said to me, like years ago.  I guess those things leave an imprint, though. And I guess it’s okay to lean on friends.  Trauma can go away forever, seriously. _

 

_ I think I may hold off on emailing Timothy for a while.  Need to get myself together so I don’t look all swollen and awful. _

 

 

  * __Stef doesn’t know what I’m planning.  She can’t arrest me for something she doesn’t know I’m doing.__


  * _Meeting Timothy is not a crime._


  * _We are adults and I have the right to know him if we both want to. Moms knew their dads all their lives.  I have the right to know mine._



 

 

_ Just a little reminder, in case I start to lose it again. _

 

_ Love, Me _

 

\--

 

For the next stop on Fran’s Avoider tour, she rides the elevator down to the first floor and knocks on Mari and Levi’s door.

 

“Hey.  You okay?” Levi asks, pulling it open and studying her.  By now, Levi feels pretty much like her brother (maybe brother-in-law - since he and Mari are dating - but a cool one.)

 

Levi’s even closer to Fran’s age than her own siblings, which makes it easier for her to connect with him on a lot of things.  “Yeah…” she sighs annoyed with herself. “Just having a mental breakdown…” 

 

“Is that all?” Levi teases gently.  “Hey, Mar..Francesca’s here.”

 

“I heard…” Mari says, walking out of her room, a smile on her face.  “No mental breakdowns...it’s only like 10 AM,” she tells Fran sweetly.

 

“Yeah, well, mine don’t care what time it is....” Fran flops on their couch.

 

“What’s up?  Want privacy?” Levi asks.

 

“Actually...is Pearl up?  Can I talk to all of you?” Fran asks.

 

“Um, have you met her?  She’s been up since like 6:00 this morning,” Levi remarks.  “I’ll call her.”   
  


“Thanks,” Fran nods.

 

Once Pearl and Cleo arrive, all four of them settle around the table.  Levi offers coffee, and Francesca laughs. “Why not? I just had some at Jesus’s, but that was like...a couple hours ago…”

 

“I mean, we have tea…” Levi offers.

 

“No, I need the caffeine or I get a massive headache,” Francesca insists.  “Give it. I mean, please.”

 

He sets the cup down.  Smiles. Sits.

 

There’s silence.

 

“You need us?” Mari asks.  “We’re here.”

 

“Yeah...it’s just...embarrassing as hell…”  She risks a look at Mariana. “I’m having Mom trauma.”

 

“Ew,” Mariana says, and it’s the perfect thing because it makes Fran laugh and she needs to right now.  “What kind?” Mariana asks.

 

“The kind where I apparently merge Stef threatening to arrest me and being in trouble with Lena hitting me when she found out about Timothy…”

 

“I don’t follow,” Pearl says, confused.

 

“Well, you know I’ve been emailing him,” Fran says.  

 

(They do.  Mariana was the one who suggested a secret email account.  And Pearl is Fran’s go-to person for all things bio dad. And Levi?  He’s just easy to talk to. Francesca’s never worried about disappointing him.)

 

“Yeah.  How’s that going?” Pearl wonders.

 

“Well, he knows I just moved.  He actually offered to help. And if not that, then he said he’d love to meet up somewhere.  Talk, like face to face.” Fran shares.

 

“How’d you feel about it?” Levi asks.

 

“I felt  _ good _ !  That’s the  _ thing _ !” Fran objects, more mad at her trauma for betraying her than she is at any of the Avoiders.

 

Mariana winces and Fran realizes she’s been too loud.  It’s a habit she’s not been able to break over the years, and these apartments are super echoey.

 

“Sorry,” Fran apologizes, quieter.  “It’s just...I said I  _ wanted _ to.  And I  _ do _ .  But when I started thinking about it, I got all these doubts and then all these fears…”  She meets Mari’s eyes first, then Levi’s, then Pearl’s. “I mean...I thought, like, what if Timothy, like, hates me?  What if he acts like he did when I first met him?” Back to Mariana.

 

“You take backup and have a way home,” Mariana says.

 

“I know, and I  _ do _ have that, it’s just... _ me. _  What do _ I  _ do?  How do  _ I _ deal with that?  And all that gave way to, this huge wall of fear.  Thinking, like, ‘What if Stef finds out and comes to arrest me,’ or some crap.  Because there was a contract, or whatever.”

 

Levi gets up and walks to his and Mari’s couch, and takes a quilt off the back, bringing it back and offering it to Fran.  “Dad blanket. Perfect for Dad stuff,” he offers kindly.

 

She accepts, holding all of it, folded, in her lap.  It does feel good and Dadish. Levi and Pearl did luck out as far as dads.  Maybe there’s some good-Dad-vibes still left in here. Lingering in the shirt squares.  Maybe the Wests wouldn’t mind sharing...

 

“Okay, so let’s take this one thing at a time,” Pearl offers.  “First...how do you deal with the possible rejection? Well, you’ve already proven you can do that.  You have that strength. You have us, and you have a plan going in. It sounds like you’re well-prepared.”

 

“It’s good, though...to remember that this…  It’s not like TV. You’re a real person, and so is he,” Mariana offers.  “There’s every chance that you’ll hurt each other. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t sit down with him.  And, you said he brought it up. So that’s a good sign.”

 

“It is,” Fran nods.

 

She looks at Levi.  “What about you?”

 

“What do you mean?  I have zero advice here,” Levi says, holding his hands up.  “I’m moral support. I’m blanket-provider.”

 

“And coffee-provider,” Fran says, holding up her cup.

 

“What did Jesus and Dom say?” Pearl asks, knowing Fran had likely started with them.  

 

“Both offered to drive me.  Said I should if it’s what I wanted.  I’ll probably go with Dominique. Meet him at the Coffee Corner.”

 

“When?” Mariana asks.

 

“Today, or tomorrow.  I mean, assuming I can get myself together enough to email him back.”

 

“What’s holding you back?” Levi checks.

 

“Like...what if I email him and he’s like, ‘Actually, I changed my mind and it’s a terrible idea and I never wanna talk to you again?’”

 

“Okay, but you’ve dealt with that already, Francesca,” Pearl reminds her, patient.  “You’ve had him reject you. So...I think...you email when you reconcile that you’re in control of your part, and he has the right to say no.”

 

“Oh.  It’s consent?” Francesca asks.

 

Mariana’s eyes flicker briefly to Levi’s and then away.  

 

Fran scoots her chair closer to her sister.  The wooden legs screech obnoxiously against the linoleum.

 

“Sorry,” Fran whispers.  “I was definitely going for  _ subtle show of support _ …not  _ stop everything and attract attention... _ ”

 

Mariana snickers, but finds Fran’s hand under the table and holds it.

 

“Definitely,” Pearl nods.  “That’s definitely true, and if it makes that possibility easier to take in?  All the better.”

 

“It does,” Francesca nods.  “God, what did I ever do before we all lived here together?  I was missing out on my minimum of three processing sessions to get all my feelings and crap sorted.”

 

(Emotional Laundry.  The term nudges her from the past.  From their trip up to Minnesota to visit Pearl and Levi when they lived there.  They haven’t called their sitting down together anything lately. Not Feelings Time, even.  It’s just become a part of life.)

 

Fran and Mariana go to Mari’s bedroom and close the door, so Francesca can compose her email in private:

 

_ From  _ _ adfosfran10@gmail.com _

_ To:  _ _ timothyahasani@hotmail.com _

 

_ Timothy, _

 

_ What do you say to this afternoon at the Coffee Corner right across from the park?  Right near the apartments? If today is too soon, we could do tomorrow. _

 

_ Francesca _

 

Before she sends it, Fran has Mariana look it over.

 

“Seriously, tell me if it’s too desperate…” Fran begs.

 

“It’s not.  You’re being clear, but also offering a second option timing-wise.  So he knows that part can...like...move. But the location is set. I think it’s good.” Mariana nods.

 

“All right.  Let’s hope…” Fran says, drawing a breath and clicking  _ Send _ .

 

\--

 

“So...everything cool?  You know? With you and Levi?” Fran asks carefully.  She doesn’t wanna be all up in Mariana’s business, but at the same time it was hard to miss her reaction to consent at the table.

 

Mariana sighs.  “It’s just…slow…” she confides.  “And I worry. Like, if I take too long getting there...to consent?  Will he still be here? Or will he bail?” 

 

“Is he acting like he wants to bail?” Fran wonders.

 

“No, he’s so sweet, it’s disgusting…” Mariana laughs, flopping on her bed.

 

“So, it’s fear,” Fran deduces.

 

“Hell yeah, it’s fear.  I have, like, a lifetime of trauma to deal with here. And not just one kind.  Who signs up for that?”

 

“I think Levi…” Fran offers.  “I don’t know all you two’s business, but I know he has trauma, too.  And he might be just as scared as you.”

 

“Yeah, except I’m the one who keeps putting the brakes on,” Mariana sighs.  “And Maine’s in here...like...just talk to him.”

 

“No….” Fran moans.  

 

“No kidding.  It doesn’t work like that.  The words don’t just...come out...because I want them to…” Mariana insists.

 

Maine is Mariana’s person.  She is the happiest human being Francesca has ever met.  Like, ever. She’s blonde and perky, genuine and sweet. She just...says things sometimes.  Like that Mariana should “just talk” to Levi. When talking isn’t that easy for her.

 

“Do you want me to...I don’t know...something?  Talk to her?” Fran offers.

 

“And say what?” Mariana challenges from behind a pillow she’s covered her face with.

 

“Stop being mean to my sister?” Francesca offers.  “I mean...what does Walker say?” she asks, thinking about Levi’s person (who everybody in the whole rest of the building ogles like he’s meat...or cake…  Fran’s more drawn to personality...and Walker has a nice one of those, too...)

 

“Who knows?  We don’t really mix our personal stuff...or our people…  We’ve asked them not to talk to each other about us either.  Just makes it complicated. Messy. Whatever.”

 

“Well, I know I’m like...super young and I know nothing but...you have every right to withhold consent if you’re not ready.”

 

Fran’s phone chimes:

 

To:  adfosfran10@gmail.com

Fom:   _ timothyahasani@hotmail.com _

 

_ Today, Coffee Corner, 4 PM work? _

 

_ Timothy _

 

\--

 

“Who’s that?” Mari asks.

 

“Oh my God...it’s happening…” Fran exclaims showing Mariana her phone.

 

“It is!” Mariana insists, her smile huge.  “Well, it is once you confirm with him.”

 

Fran hits  _ Reply _ and types two words:

 

_ Sounds good _ .

 

**\--**

 

_ Dear Journal,  _

 

_ I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff and these pebbles are breaking off all around my feet.  Timothy is at the bottom, saying I have a parachute and I should jump. It will open, if I just jump.   _

 

_ Worried I might fall instead. _

 

_ Here we go… _

 

_ Love, Me _

 

\--

 

The four-hour wait between hearing today is a go, and actually meeting him is agonizing.  

 

Francesca passes the time going to Dominique’s parents’ house and picking her dad’s brain.  He’s the only parent she knows who’s also adopted. Who has also met his birth father.

 

After asking twenty questions (and managing to eat some of Michael’s homemade potato soup with a fancy turkey sandwich), it’s time to go.

 

“Come here, you,” Michael invites, opening his arms.  

 

Francesca goes, hanging on tight to him.  

 

Michael holds her at arm’s length:  “He is gonna love you. I do,” he says, confident.  Teary. Proud.

 

“Seriously, you gotta stop making me cry,  Ask Dom...I did enough of that today already.”

 

“Come by if you need to talk after,” Michael invites.

 

Francesca breathes deep.  “Okay. Wish me luck,” she says.

 

“You don’t need it.  You got this,” Michael tells Fran as she stops by the kitchen where Mariana and Dominique are catching up with Jaimie.

 

“Okay, we gotta go,” Francesca insists.  “Do I look okay?” she asks Jaimie, nervous.

 

“Francesca, you look beautiful, babe. As always,” Jaimie says, like she actually means it.

 

“I mean...I thought since I dressed up a ton last time maybe I should be my regular self this time?  But maybe that was the wrong move? Do y’all think I look sloppy?” Francesca asks.

 

“Come here and sit for a second,” Dominique invites.

 

She and Mariana separate, leaving an empty chair between them, for Fran to sit in.

 

“We don’t have time…” Francesca whines.

 

“Where’s he gonna go?” Dominique challenges.  “ _ He _ asked to meet  _ you _ , right?”

 

When Francesca finally sighs, and sits, Mariana offers a hand.  They hold tight to each other, out of sight of everyone else. “You don’t look sloppy,” Mariana reassures.  “Your jeans are perfect. Your shirt’s amazing.”

 

“Not too casual?” Fran worries, surveying her black tee, with white lettering that reads: _A Day Without Coffee is Like...Just Kidding...I Have No Idea_.

 

“Like Mariana said,  _ amazing _ ,” Jaimie approves, giving her a nod.

 

“You’re going to have coffee.  I mean, is there a more appropriate shirt?  I don’t think so... “ Dominique decides. “So, let’s take a second.  Mom, you wanna drop an affirmation on Francesca before we go?”

 

“Oh, I got one.  So, Francesca?” Jaimie says, drawing an intentional breath.  

 

Fran mirrors her.  She still feels so anxious, it’s unreal.  But she has to try to get her nerves under control.

 

“Repeat after me.  Dominique and Mari?  Feel free to join in if you like:  “I release my need to impress others…” 

 

“ _ I release my need to impress others… _ ” Fran says, relieved when Dominique and Mariana join her.  Mariana squeezes her hand, maybe sending Fran strength, or maybe drawing it from her.

 

“I know that I have nothing to prove,” Jaimie continues.

 

_ “I know that I have nothing to prove.”  _

 

_ “ _ I choose to accept myself just the way I am,” Jaimie finishes.

 

_ “I choose to accept myself just the way I am,”  _ Fran echoes.  It’s not magic, but it does help a little to take a few extra minutes.

 

“Alright.  Francesca, you’re gonna kill it.  And if you need a ride, Dom and Mari are right there for you.”

 

“Thanks, Jaimie.  Thanks, Michael,” Fran calls.

 

“Love you, Dominique,” Jaimie calls.  And, surprising them, she adds, “Love you Mari.  Love you, Fran.”

 

“Okay,” Mariana responds, saying exactly what Fran is thinking.  “Thanks.”

 

“Yeah, thanks,” Fran echoes.

 

\--

 

Somehow, they arrive at the Coffee Corner with five minutes to spare.  Francesca decides to defy convention and opt away from the frozen hot chocolate that she equates with The Avoiders.  This is not Avoidance, this is real life. She orders an espresso frappuccino and picks a table toward one corner.

 

Mariana sits a couple tables away, flashing a thumbs up, while Dominique orders for them.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Francesca jumps.  She glances up. 

 

Oh God.  It’s happening.  He’s standing right here.  And he’s tall. And British. And Timothy.  And he’s dressed way more fancily than Fran is, damn it.  In a starched white shirt with a collar and khaki pants. His hair looks like he just wakes up each day and it’s perfect.

 

“Um. hi…” Fran says, awkwardly sliding her chair out and standing for some reason.  (It just seems like the thing to do, okay?) She offers her left hand for Timothy to shake because her right is channelling all her nerves ever and is in a tense fist at her side.

 

Timothy grasps her left hand in his right.  It feels backward. “Hello. Sorry. How are you?” he asks, seeming nervous, too.

 

“I’m fine,” Francesca answers, sitting down again.

 

“This is a bit strange, huh?” Timothy asks.

 

“Yeah.  A bit.” Fran says, trying out his turn of phrase.

 

“So, how’s apartment life?” he asks, sipping his tea.

 

“ _ So _ much better than home…” Fran blurts.  “Sorry. God, that was rude.”

 

“I think,” Timothy offers diplomatically.  “That wanting to individuate from your parents is healthy.”

 

There’s like, fifteen years of silence.  It’s so quiet, Fran can hear Dom and Mariana talking and laughing two tables over.

 

“What are you drinking?” she finally asks.

 

“Black tea, lemon,” he offers.  “Would you like to try it?” he asks, offering her the saucer and the cup.

 

She doesn’t even think about turning him down.  Moms’ voices are there in her head, urging her to be polite.

 

Fran contemplates just how to maneuver the nearly-full cup without spilling.  She manages a small sip. It’s strong. Smoky. Earthy. Sweet. The lemon is sour and tangy.  Francesca puckers. 

 

“Wow,” she blinks a lot, setting the cup down.  “Thank you. My sinuses are clear now.”

 

“It’s not for everyone,” Timothy apologizes.  “You clearly prefer coffee,” he gestures to her shirt.  “What are you having?” 

 

“Oh.  Espresso frappuccino.  It’s like my third round of coffee for the day.” Fran says.  “Did you wanna try it?” she offers, worried that he’ll say yes. 

 

“I’ve had my fair share of espresso,” Timothy tells her kindly.  “So, still no plans for college?” he asks.

 

Francesca bristles.

 

“Jeez, you _ are  _ a dad…” Francesca complains, and her body jumps with the realization that those words actually did just fly out of her mouth.  “I did  _ not _ mean to say that…no offense...” Fran mutters, ducking her head.

 

“None taken,” Timothy reassures.  “I  _ am  _ a dad…”

 

Fran’s eyes light up as he takes out his wallet...and shows a picture of a little boy.  

 

“That’s my son, Zayn.  He’s seven,” Timothy shares.

 

Francesca feels herself wilting inside.  Why did she think that Timothy - who was never allowed to even speak to Fran - would be carrying around a picture of _ her _ in his wallet?  

 

“Oh,” she says.  “So, I bet Zayn will go to college…”  Fran ventures.

 

“That’s the plan.  You know, I’m surprised Lena is on board with you not going to school…” Timothy sits back, like he’s thinking.

 

“Well, she’s not…” Fran admits.  “But we’re not exactly rich either.  I’m the youngest of six. Three of us went to school, pretty much one right after the other.”

 

“There are scholarships,” Timothy suggests.

 

“Yeah, where I’d have to use the fact that I’m a triple-minority to get money.  No, thanks,” Fran shakes her head. “Can we talk about something else?”

 

“Sure,” Timothy agrees.  “So, do you work?”

 

Fran cringes, but puts on a smile.  “Nope. So I’m just a disappointment on all fronts…”

 

“I didn’t say that.  Listen. Why don’t you ask me a question?”

 

Francesca bites her lip, contemplating.  The way this is going, she and Timothy might go their separate ways (now that he’s discovered what a loser she is).  So, what has she got to lose by asking?

 

“Would you have wanted to...be involved in my life?  You know, if there wasn’t a contract?” Fran asks, sipping the dregs of her drink.  She wonders, in the brief silence if she should have just stuck to small talk, like they have in their emails.

 

“Francesca, of course,” Timothy objects, hurt.

 

“Really?  Even though…” She drops her voice, “Even though I’m disabled?”

 

“But you’re not,” Timothy denies.

 

“I am.  I have CP,” Fran points out, not quite believing that Timothy wouldn’t know this - if for no other reason than the awful statement Brandon released to the news years ago, where he told the whole world that she “was special needs.”

 

“I mean, not to me,” Timothy explains.  “I don’t see you like that.”

 

Once upon a time, Francesca would have been over the moon at these words, believing that they meant that her bio dad saw her the way she truly was.  But the solution to ableism isn’t to ignore disability. It’s to embrace disability and stop with the ableism. That’s what so many don’t understand.  What Timothy doesn’t seem to get.

 

So, instead of feeling glad, Francesca just feels confused and vaguely hurt.

 

“You don’t seem happy,” Timothy points out, concerned.  

 

“I’m not,” Fran admits.  She lets out a breath. Reaches deep for the smile she has on hand.  “Listen, it’s fine. I probably just went too deep. Maybe we should have stuck to all the ways I’m failing in education and employment.  Disability’s not for everyone. Trust me, I get it.”

 

“So...you want me to see your disability?” Timothy asks, flummoxed.

 

Fran levels a gaze at him.  “Do you want me to see you as a man?” she asks, anger blooming.

 

Timothy blinks.  “Oh.” He looks stunned.  “Is it like that?”

 

“Yeah.  It is,” Francesca nods, blinking.

 

“Then, I sincerely apologize,” Timothy says, extending a hand.

 

Francesca offers her right intentionally this time.  Let him feel her spasticity at its peak. Let him try to deny it - deny her - then.

 

He holds her hand and her eye contact.

 

“Listen,” he says, releasing her hand.  “You’re not exactly what I expected. And I have no illusions that I can somehow swoop into your life and make up for all the time we’ve lost.  I can’t be your dad. But I would like to be involved in your life.”

 

“As what?” Fran asks, wincing.  “If you can’t be my dad - and you are - then what does that leave?”

 

“I don’t know,” Timothy admits.

 

“‘Cause I don’t agree with you on everything...but I don’t wanna never see you again either.”

 

“Agreed,” Timothy nods.

 

“So, maybe, we meet again?  Work on becoming...acquaintances?”

 

“Yeah.  That works,” Fran nods.  “I mean, if you want…”

 

“I do.  Very much.  Francesca, it killed me to see you every day at school, to see you growing up in front of my eyes and to not even be able to speak to you.”

 

“Really?” Fran asks.

 

“Yes,” Timothy says.  “There were a million times I almost approached you.  Said hello. Something. But with the contract...I just...I couldn’t…  You understand.”

 

“My parents are possessive,” Fran says.  “I get it.” She stands. Walks a few steps to the garbage can to throw away her cup, conscious of her gait.

 

She turns back, bracing herself on the table.  

 

Timothy stands.  “‘Til next time, then.”  He nods. Stepping back and making his way out of the shop.

 

“‘Til next time…” Fran says to the empty space he left.  The warm spice of his cologne lingering in the air.

 

She stares into his abandoned tea cup.  Thinking of tea leaves, of her future. Of what it might hold for her and Timothy.  If anything.

 

“Hey…” Mariana greets, coming up beside Fran.  “Ready to go?”

 

Francesca sighs.  “I guess, yeah.”

 

“We’ve got you,” Mariana tells her, as Dominique comes up on Fran’s other side.  

 

They walk out together.

 

\--

 

“That was the weirdest thing ever,” Francesca moans.  “Seriously, he is never gonna wanna talk to me again. I was, like, super-awkward,” she confesses.

 

“I hate that,” Mariana sympathizes.  “Like...you wanna be your very best way and then it’s like...you’re trying so hard to be that?  That you just end up…”

 

“Super-awkward,” Fran fills in, frustrated.  “He went all ‘ _ Are you going to college? _ ’ on me.

 

“It’s not worth it.  The mental stress. I mean, you should go if it’s something you really want.  But not because you feel pushed…” Mariana advises.

 

“He followed that up with, ‘ _ What do you do _ ?’ Fran bristles.

 

“Did you tell him to go to hell?” Dominique asks from the driver’s seat.

 

“No.  I told him I was a disappointment on all fronts.  Just put it out there. So he’d know.”

 

“Oh, my God…” Dominique laughs.  “You know you’re not a disappointment though, right?”

 

“And he has a kid,” Fran continues.  “I told him he was a dad for going all college on me, and I was like ‘ _ I  _ am _ a dad _ ’ and showed me this ridiculously cute kid.  Like...legitimately claimed this kid in front of me.  ‘ _ I’m  _ his _ dad _ .’”

 

“...But not yours…” Mariana finishes, knowing.  “That’s totally Ana with Isabella right now. She’s sixteen now and gets to live with this totally different version of Ana.  And they’re happy. Ana’s married and stable and whatever. But she couldn’t get it together for me and Jesus?”

 

“Rude,” Francesca decides.  “Do you feel related?

 

Mariana shakes her head.

 

 ‘Cause I definitely don’t feel related to Zayn…” Fran continues.

 

“Well, who says you should?” Dominique asks.  “You don’t know him. And you’re not a disappointment.”

 

Fran sighs, frustrated.  “When are you gonna stop saying that?”

 

“When are you gonna let yourself take it in?” Dominique challenges.

 

“Fine, I’m not a disappointment.  I’m just an unemployed, no college degree, reject with a disability he refuses to see…” Fran lists.

 

“Whoa.  That came up?” Mariana asks.

 

“He doesn’t see me that way,” Fran grimaces.  “Luckily, I guess, he came around when I asked if he wanted me to see him as a man.”

 

Dom and Mariana exchange amused glances.

 

“Anyway, to finish, he refused to claim me as his daughter, since Moms are my parents or something, but insisted he still wanted to meet up again.  To work on being  _ acquaintances _ .”

 

“How do you feel about it?” Mariana asks.

 

“A combination of grossly desperate to be accepted and convinced that he was just being nice when he said he wanted to meet again.  ‘Cause who wants to stay in touch with all this?” Fran asks, gesturing to herself.

 

“Us,” Mariana says, putting an arm around Francesca.

 

Francesca leans into her.  There’s kind of nothing like a hug from a sister who actually gets it.  But it’s also pretty instantly overwhelming. Neither her or Mari have very high hug stamina.  But at least they both own it, and don’t have to deal with uncomfortably long hugs from each other.

 

“Thanks, but I meant, what parent?  I’m kind of universally despised by parents.”

 

“Not mine,” Dominique says.

 

“Not Jesus’s teacher,” Mariana adds.

 

“Y’all are making it really hard to keep being down on myself…” Fran objects, wiping her eyes.

 

“That’s the idea,” Dominique smiles.  “Where are we headed?”

 

“Maybe back home.  I should check in with Giselle.  I haven’t seen her most of today,” Fran admits.  “She didn’t even know I was doing this.”

 

“Well, you can tell her when you’re ready,” Dominique reasons.

 

“Yeah, but she’ll probably be hurt,” Fran admits.

 

\--

 

When Francesca walks in after 5 PM and smells food cooking, she has a moment of wow.  Because for once, dinner isn’t going to be a major stress.

 

“Hey, what are we having?” Fran asks.

 

“Nothing fancy.  Chicken. Potatoes.  Vegetables.” Giselle says.  “I love how I can get all around the kitchen.”

 

“Yeah, that’s awesome.  I love how low all the surfaces are.  Can I help?”

 

“Yeah if you wanna bring stuff out wherever.  We can eat and watch something.”

 

Fran takes her time, making several trips and it is the weirdest thing ever that she doesn’t hear about it.  As dialed back as Moms got, sometimes, they just couldn’t keep their comments about “lengthy processes” and “time management” to themselves.

 

She decides to use their end table, so she can sit on the couch, right by the remote.  Giselle can just pull up next to it.

 

“So, what did you do today?” Giselle wonders.

 

“I...talked to Timothy…” Fran admits, unsure of how Giselle will take it.

 

“What?  You did?” Elle wonders.  “I didn’t even know you were thinking about that.”

 

“Well, he asked if I wanted to meet somewhere, and it’s kinda all I’ve ever wanted...so...I did.”

 

“And?” Giselle prompts.

 

“And it didn’t exactly go like I thought,” Fran takes a bite of chicken.  “Do you feel bad that I didn’t tell you?”

 

“Kind of…” Giselle admits.  “I mean...we’re best friends.  That means something. You planned this whole thing and you didn’t even say anything about it to me.”

 

“It’s just that it’s kinda private…” Fran admits.

 

“But you told your other friends.  You told The Avoiders,” Giselle points out.

 

“Yeah.  Jesus and Mariana are my brother and sister, and I’ve known the rest of them since I was ten or eleven years old.”

 

“ _ We _ met when you were eleven…” Giselle points out.

 

“Okay.  Point taken.  It’s just...okay.  This whole thing with Timothy?  Used to be  _ a whole thing  _ with my moms.  I asked questions.  They never answered.  And when I started finding out things on my own?  They freaked out. Like, intensely freaked out. And The Avoiders were there for me through that.  Pearl and Levi flew out here from Minnesota. Mariana and Jesus went to school with me and stayed all day.  Dominique offered her parents’ house as somewhere safe I could stay.”

 

“So, it was really bad,” Giselle realizes, serious.

 

“Yeah.  And that’s why I’m pretty lowkey when I decide anything about him.  Because the last time the people I was supposed to be able to trust found out?”  Fran pauses. “If it makes you feel better? I did only tell Jesus and Dom this morning.”

 

“Really? Giselle asks.

 

Fran nods.

 

Giselle pauses, considering.  “That  _ does  _ actually make me feel a little better.”

 

They laugh.

 

“Listen, I’m not trying to say you can’t have your own life, or whatever.  It’s just...my whole life? Apart from you, and our friendship? I’ve always felt really left out.”

 

Fran listens.  “I can definitely relate to that.”

 

“And I’d never freak out at you for going to talk to Timothy,” Giselle reassures.  “That’s your right. I talk to my dad every day, practically. You only talked to him for the first time ever today.”

 

“Well, we’ve been emailing.  But, like, surface stuff? Mostly I’d complain about home to him.  How much I wanted to move out. He really encouraged me to spread my wings.  Today we went deeper, and I don’t know if he wants to keep getting to know me now,” Fran frowns.

 

“Did he say that?” Giselle checks, horrified.

 

“No, that’s just the vibe I’m getting.” Fran admits.  “So, how was your day? You and Maria get along?”

 

“Yeah, she’s okay.  Have you even met your person yet?” Giselle asks.

 

“Is it that obvious that I’m putting it off?” Fran laughs.

 

There’s a silly knock at the door and strangely, neither one of them jump.  Fran gets up and investigates - no crutch as a weapon this time - peeking through the spyhole.  She sees a blonde woman, in a grey tee shirt with an owl face. The owl has neon yellow eyes and lime green glasses.  She’s wearing a matching neon yellow and black skirt. Lime green tights and red shoes complete the look.

 

“Yes?” Fran asks, not opening the door.  

 

“Hi.  I’m Kyra, and I’m late, and I’m very sorry.  I was hoping to meet with a Francesca Adams Foster?”

 

“Fran opens the door warily, “ _ You’re _ my person?” she asks, incredulous.

 

“If you’re Francesca, I am that,” Kyra answers, offering her hand to shake.

 

Francesca thinks of Timothy.  Wonders which hand to offer. Goes with her right, even though.

 

“Nice to meet you.  Oh, I’m interrupting dinner.  I can come back when you’re finished.”

 

“We’re done,” Giselle says.

 

Fran shoots her a dirty look.  Now she’s going to have to talk to Kyra about personal crap.

 

Kyra sits down at the table.  Francesca takes her time pulling out the noisy chair.  Hopes Giselle will just forget the dishes and go do something else.  This is embarrassing enough.

 

When Elle doesn’t take the hint, Fran has to be more blunt.  “Hey, can I have the room?” she asks, because the living room and the kitchen are basically one.

 

“Sure…” Giselle offers.  “I’m gonna go hang out in the lobby.  Find me when you’re done?”

 

\--

 

“So, my friend Dominique, and my brother, Jesus, have lived at Gateway for years.  They have people. I know what they do. Can we make this quick?”

 

“If that’s what you want,” Kyra nods.

 

“So, I suppose it won’t do any good to tell you I’m fine, and I don’t need anything?” Fran offers weakly.

 

Kyra smiles.  “Hey, there’s no shaming happening here.  I know we just met, but you can be as real as you need to be with me.  You won’t scare me away.”

 

“Okay...anxiety...panic attack stuff...trauma....” Fran holds off.  She finds that people (outside of the Avoiders) have one of two reactions when they find out she’s been self harming since childhood: morbid curiosity, or a desire to commit her.

 

“Okay...anything else?” Kyra asks, making notes.

 

“I have to wear bracelets...or long sleeves sometimes,” Fran confides, figuring Kyra’s gonna find out sooner or later.  And honestly? The application for living here had a whole section on mental wellness and any accommodations she might need.  Kyra probably already knows what she’s getting.

 

“Big fan of bracelets,” Kyra shows her own wrist, jangling with chunky jewelry.  “What are some ways I can best support you?”

 

“Don’t yell at me or hit me…” Fran blurts.  It’s out of her mouth before she can fully think it through.

 

She glances up at Kyra, embarrassed, but all she sees reflected in her eyes is compassion.  “I can guarantee you, Francesca. Neither one of those things will ever happen. Do you prefer Francesca?”

 

“Yes, or Fran.  Not Frankie.” Fran clarifies.

 

“Will do.”

 

“I can get kinda panicky and like...anxiety and stuff. Stress balls are good.  We have them around. And I usually need...like...a reminder to slow down and feel...because when emotions build up?  Or when I’m too quick to push past a hard thing? That’s when the self harm comes up.”

 

“Makes sense.  I read in your info that you have quite a big support system here.  Several friends live in the building. Your brother and sister. That’s great.”

 

The mention of Jesus brings something else to Fran’s mind.  “Something else I need from you...is for you to respect my privacy and my family and friends.  You know my brother’s...well...people know who he is. Sometimes people like to get close to us just so they can have an “in” to see him close up.  And he’s not a show. He’s my brother. Neither is my sister or any of the rest of my friends. So if I talk about them to you, I need to know it stays between us.  Like, only us.”

 

“You have my word.  And I’d be happy to sign something to that end if it would reassure you.” Kyra says easily.  

 

Kyra mentioning a contract has Fran thinking about Timothy.  “So...when do you officially start?”

 

“Technically, the moment you moved in.  We had already been matched. So I’m here.  If I’m on the clock and in the building, you can always call me.  We can figure out days that are best for me to swing by.”

 

“Good, because I might need to talk about some stuff.” Fran admits.  “I don’t really want to make you sign a contract, but I don’t know if not doing that is me being naive.”

 

Kyra takes out a yellow legal pad and a pen.  And scrawls, narrating as she does:

 

“ _ I, Kyra Wentworth, do hereby swear to honor the privacy of Francesca Adams Foster, her family and friends. _ ”  She signs off in her loopy scrawl and gives Francesca the paper to keep.

 

Fran sets it, in plain view between them, and starts to speak.

 

\--

 

After Fran’s done downloading her entire afternoon full of Timothy to unsuspecting Kyra, Fran sits back.  “So...what do you think? Did I screw things up?”

 

“What would make you think that?” Kyra answers, truly curious.

 

“Maybe all the vibes Timothy was sending me?  Maybe the fact that he left before I could even really say goodbye…”

 

“Sounds like a mirage…” Kyra offers ruefully.  “You know, in the desert? How really hot, thirsty people start imagining things?”

 

“So, I’m thirsty,” Fran crosses her arms.  “Great. You can see it, too. I  _ am _ screwed.”

 

“Okay, slow down.  I think we had our first miscommunication.  I was talking about literal thirst, not thirst for approval.”  She pauses and waits until Fran relaxes a little. “I was attempting to comment on how suddenly Timothy appears and disappears...like a mirage.”

 

“Oh…” Francesca says, ducking her head.  “Sorry. I overreacted.”

 

“Well, it wasn’t the greatest figure of speech.  I clearly need to work on my metaphors,” Kyra smiles good-naturedly.

 

“He was kinda like that, I guess?” Fran offers.  “There one minute. Gone, the next.”

 

“So, you’re worried you may have scared him away,” Kyra cues.

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Fran admits.  “I mean, my own parents...I know Mama always wanted a baby of her own.  But Mom made no secret that she never wanted me. And I’m pretty sure once I was born?  Mama probably wished she could return me for a regular baby. When parents say they want a baby, it goes without saying...they want a baby as close to normal as possible.”

 

Kyra’s listening thoughtfully.

 

“So those are my actual parents who lived every day with me.  I know they feel like that. For a fact. So, it’s not that far of a leap to think that Timothy might also wish I came out differently.  But college? A job? Those things are all directly related to my CP.”

 

“You’re not in college because of your disability?” Kyra asks.

 

“Pretty much.  Basic math is required in college.  And part of my CP means I suck at math.  Which means I also suck at any class with spatial concepts.  Science. Stuff like that. And why have my parents spend money they don’t have for me to fail out?  And I could work, I guess...but I’m just...so beyond overwhelmed at the idea…”

 

“If that’s something you want to work toward eventually, we definitely can do that.  But if it’s too much to think about right now, we don’t have to think about it.”

 

“Mostly, I’m frustrated.  You know, like… There are all these rules for dating.  How many days to wait to contact somebody after a date, so you don’t look desperate.  But there’s nothing for when you’re meeting your dad for the first time…”

 

“How frequently have you been in touch recently?” Kyra asks.

 

“Usually, once a day?” Fran admits.

 

“Okay, so maybe you try to hold off at least until tonight.  You email him and reiterate that you’d like to have coffee again.  Then, the ball’s in his court.”

 

“I hate it when the ball’s in his court…” Fran admits.

 

“I know,” Kyra offers, sympathetic.  Her phone pings.

 

“Well.  Duty calls.  Oh, here,” she scribbles down her work phone number underneath her spur of the moment contract and signature.  “Call me if you need me. I’ll get back to you ASAP. I’ll check in with you tomorrow night, but if you need anything in the meantime.  I’m here ‘til 11 PM tonight.”

 

“Okay,” Fran nods.  “Thank you. For not running for the hills.”

 

“Oh, are you kidding?  I find you fantastic,” Kyra tells Fran genuinely.

 

Francesca consider this.  “I find you...the same,” she admits.

 

“Later, Fran.  Don’t forget to give your roomie a heads up that she can come back from the lobby,” Kyra jokes, on her way out the door.

 

\--

 

Fran follows Kyra out and stops off in the lobby to find Giselle sitting in front of the Christmas tree, watching the lights.  Fran pulls out a chair and sits, too. 

 

“You can come back if you want,” Fran tells her.

 

“We should have a tree,” Giselle decides.

 

“Pearl and Levi have a purple one.  Pearl has it now. Levi and Mariana have another one.” Fran says.

 

“Yeah, but I mean us, Fran.  Not your other friends.”

 

“Well, I’m telling you so we can get ideas for us.  Because we can’t do a giant tree like this one. But maybe a tiny tree?  One that doesn’t shed a million needles so we wouldn’t have to worry about vacuuming them?” 

 

“But I love giant trees,” Giselle objects in an adorable voice. She sighs.  “But I guess I can always just come out here and enjoy this one…”

 

\--

 

Francesca knows that Michael offered to be there afterward for extra support, but honestly?  Right now? The last person Fran wants to be around is another dad. Since she hasn’t actually been to visit Pearl since yesterday when everything was done being moved in, Fran walks down the hall on the second floor and taps on the door.

 

Cleo barks grumpily from inside.

 

“Hey, it’s Francesca.  Cleo, you know me.”

 

Pearl pulls the door open.  “Hi. Come on in,” she says, brightening.

 

And that’s exactly why Francesca loves her friends so much.  Because they’re never too busy for her. They’re always happy to see her.  Always want her where they are. 

 

“So, how was it?” Pearl asks seriously, once Fran’s all settled with a cup of hot chocolate.

 

“I mean...hard to say?” Fran admits.  She bites her lip, hesitating. “If you’d gotten to meet your dad again, do you think it would’ve been weird?  Or just like, ‘ _ Hey.  You’re my dad.  I remember you, and everything’s cool? _ ’

 

“Which one was it with you?” Pearl asks.

 

“Definitely not the second…” Fran mumbles.  She sets her cup aside. “Can I swing, please?” she asks.  It’s not something she does on the regular, but right now, she really needs it.  And therapeutic swings are so expensive that even though Jesus has wanted one for years, and all the Avoiders could probably use them?  They all just come by and use Pearl’s when they need it. 

 

(Fran tries not to need it.)

 

“Sure,” Pearl invites, going with Fran into the one bedroom, where the swing is mounted in one corner.  The purple fiber optic curtain in front of it.

 

Pearl holds the swing still so Fran can get in it and then backs off, flipping the switch for the curtain, so it lights up.

 

“I met my person,” she offers, as Pearl putters in the kitchen.

 

“Yeah?  How are they?” Pearl asks.

 

Francesca watches the lights and just breathes for a second, trying to just give in and let the swing do its thing instead of worrying that it might break with her in it.

 

“I think the word you’d use is eccentric…” Fran offers.

 

“The word  _ I’d _ use,” Pearl remarks, laughing.  “Is that your not-so-subtle way of calling me old?” she asks.

 

“It’s not old.  It’s old- _ timey _ ,” Fran objects.  “It’s cute.”

 

“I don’t know how it’d be with my dad.  I’d like to think we’d have picked up where we left off.  Him being amazing. Me being awkward, precocious and emotionally-stunted.  Him loving me anyway. But I have no way of knowing for sure. Even as a teenager...I wasn’t the same person I was when I was four.  I don’t necessarily know if he’d like who he found.”

 

“That’s how it felt…” Fran admits quietly, studying the lights.  “Like he would’ve rather had some other daughter. Well - not even daughter - he said he can’t be my dad.  And...I can’t help wondering...is that because he doesn’t like who he found?”

 

Francesca can hear Pearl coming in and making herself comfortable on the giant beanbag chair on the floor.  “Parents can’t cherry-pick their children. And they can’t clone themselves by having children. I think that’s hard for some people.”

 

“You mean your mom?” Fran admits.

 

As far as Fran knows?  Pearl hasn’t been in touch with her mom in nearly a decade.  Not since Pearl met Levi, and Pearl found out that her mom was actually Levi’s trauma.  Fran still doesn’t have all the details there, and she might never. But Fran knows all about Mom issues.

 

Pearl sighs.  “I do. I mean her.”

 

“Do you feel like she feels like that about you?  Like she doesn’t want to claim you, because you’re not exactly who she wants?”

 

“Kind of,” Pearl admits.  “It’s different because I’ve come to realize over the years that I don’t want a relationship with her.  But a part of me will always love her. And I kind of hate myself for that, because she’s done nothing but hurt me...and Levi…”

 

“Do you wish you could turn off the love?” Fran asks, feeling like she can ask these tough questions, safe behind the purple curtain.  The lights are mesmerizing, but not in a dissociative way. And the pressure of the swing isn’t scary. It’s grounding.

 

“Sometimes, I do.” Pearl admits.

 

“I’m happy you exist,” Fran offers, feeling strangely pushed to say it, even though she’s not sure why.

 

“I’m happy you exist, too,” Pearl says, and not even in that polite-reciprocating way people do.  Like Levi, what Pearl says always feels deeply authentic. Like she means it, to her core.

 

“So, is it bad that I don’t really want to sit down with all of the Avoiders and tell them how spectacularly awful today went?” Fran asks.  “I mean, Dom and Mariana got the idea. I told Kyra--”

 

“Oh,  _ Kyra _ !  Yep, she’s eccentric, alright!  You two should get along well,” Pearl says, sounding happy.

 

“What does that mean?” Fran asks, amused.

 

“Just that she’s fun.  And no, I think we all understand that you’ll tell us what you want to tell us when you’re ready.  We won’t push.”

 

“You don’t think Jesus will be hurt?  I kinda waited ‘til today to even tell him about this…”

 

“I think Jesus knows more than most of us about the desire to keep some things private.  Or to only be able to open up to certain people about a certain thing.” Pearl offers.

 

“I just...don’t wanna hurt anyone.  That’s been kind of...a trigger...I guess you could say?  Because Moms were always calling my curiosity about Timothy ‘very hurtful’ when they were on the way to losing their shit with me.”

 

“I so relate,” Pearl offers sadly.  “I really, truly do. The important thing to keep in mind is?  The Avoiders? Are not our mothers. They respect us. Our curiosity, our need for space, our need for privacy, all of that.  None of us are going to freak out at you.”

 

“Kyra...she like…wrote this contract on yellow legal paper...on the spot, and signed and dated it, that she wouldn’t out my privacy or any of The Avoiders…” Fran trails off and then picks up again.  “She asked how she could best support me and I totally blurted some abused child crap about that I didn’t want her to yell at me or hit me…”

 

“The first time Levi introduced me to Walker?  His person? I was like, “ _ If Levi ever needs you and I’m around, I’m going to need to leave.  I need you not to approach me when I’m alone. I need you to give me space. _ ”

 

“Wow, you just put your boundaries out there…” Fran says, impressed.

 

“So, did you, Francesca,” Pearl tells her gently.

 

\--

 

Francesca doesn’t have time to obsess about Timothy.  

 

Before she knows it, it’s weeks later and she’s waking up in Mariana’s bed.  She and Jesus slept over here last night, in order to spend every single minute of Christmas together.

 

When she lived with Moms, Francesca was required to spend Christmas with them.  No friends or outside people at all. Brandon, Callie and Jude came home for it, and Fran knew that Jesus and Mariana came home for her.

 

But this year is big.  

 

This year is the first that Francesca has her own apartment and can make her own plans (despite how hard Moms tried to convince her to come home.)

 

The thing is, Fran’s had enough of Christmases at home.  Enough of pretending to be okay and putting on a happy face.  Enough of seeing Jesus struggle throughout Fran’s childhood, when they randomly dropped his accommodations, deciding he didn’t need them anymore.

 

Now that Fran can make her own decisions, she’s determined that they’re all going to respect each other, their limits and what they need.

 

Stretching, Fran groans.  “Get up. Mari…” she pokes her sister.  “Hey. It’s our first Avoider Christmas.”

 

“Yay…” Mariana mumbles, smiling.  It’s 10 AM. None of this up at 6 AM like when she lived with Moms.

 

Fran pulls her Christmas PJs to rights and goes out to the living room.  Jesus is on the couch. So is Dudley, front paws in his lap.

 

“Morning.  Merry Christmas,” Fran greets.

 

“Hey…” Jesus smiles.  

 

Fran’s a little let down by no presents but she’s comforted, remembering that Pearl offered to be headquarters for all the Avoider gifts, even offering to wrap everything that was not for her (except Jesus’s.)  

 

They worked it out so they can all go open stuff at Pearl’s.  Mariana has offered to stay with Jesus, because no Avoiders get left behind.  And when Mariana goes to open her stuff, Fran offered to sit with him. 

 

Jesus says he’ll probably pick up his own presents bit by bit, as he’s able.

 

Mariana and Levi’s has been designated as Christmas Hangout.  And they all know Dominique would prefer no one in her space (except maybe the female part of the Avoiders...and even then...one at a time.)

 

She knows that Dominique will start the day with her parents, and then all three will come by here.  She knows Levi and Pearl flew out to see his mom last month, as Nia’s in her seventies and finds it hard to travel now.

 

The point is, actual Christmas is going to be dedicated to The Avoiders.

 

While Mariana and Levi talk in the kitchen, Fran leans into Jesus.  “What’s up, buddy?” she asks. She can tell, when he gets quiet like this, something’s on his mind.

 

“Thinking about Isaac…” he admits.  “His mom sent me a thing a few years back. It was about a dream she had.  That he’s fine. And, like, in their apartment with them. His dog was there he had as a kid.  And that their TV was turned onto The Cooking Channel before her or her husband even got up. Unique Sweets.”

 

“Ooh, I love that show,” Fran admits.

 

“Wanna watch it with me?  I kinda need to do something positive that’s related to him.  ‘Cause I do not have happy ghost-Isaac dreams to lean on…”

 

“You have me to lean on,” Francesca insists.  “And we get to have Christmas our way…”

 

“That’s true.  Things go okay with Timothy, by the way?  You never said…”

 

“-ish,” she offers,  “I mean, I emailed him back that night, and he hasn’t sent anything back.  So, I don’t know.”

 

“Well, I hope he does.  What’s Giselle up to today?”

 

“Christmas with her fam, of course.  Surprised Laura didn’t tell you that,” Fran teases lightly.

 

“She did, I just like talking to you,” Jesus returns.

 

Eventually, Mari and Levi join them.  All four sit in a row on the couch and tune into The Cooking Channel and its delicious show all about desserts - Isaac definitely has good taste.

 

After a while, Pearl knocks, followed by Dom, Jaimie and Michael.

 

Michael’s brought a whole meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans and mac and cheese.  Pearl brings a homemade chocolate cake (Ghirardelli, of course) with crushed candy canes on top.

 

When Mariana goes to take breaks in her room, Fran goes with her.  They each wear headphones and lay side by side on her bed, with their laptops out - each doing their own thing - but together.

 

Eventually, they swing by Pearl’s for presents.  Michael says he really wants to check out what’s on The Cooking Channel with Jesus.

 

“You sure you’re fine?” Mari asks Jesus.  “I can stay.”

 

“Or I can,” Fran offers.  “I’ll watch with y’all.”

 

“Nah, you don’t have to,” Jesus says, waving them off. “I appreciate it, though.  Dudley, Michael and I have cooking stuff to discuss.”

 

“Yes, we do,” Michael answers.

 

\--

 

All six of the rest of them cram into Pearl’s one-bedroom and find a huge pile of presents all stacked around the tiny purple tinsel tree.

 

Dominique’s out of the fray, sitting on Pearl’s couch, looking a little lost.  Fran walks over and sits with her. 

 

Francesca raises her eyebrows.

 

“It’s weird...I know...but it’s kinda just now hitting me again?  I missed a Christmas.” Dominique shares, her voice faraway.

 

“What do you mean?” Fran asks.

 

“Well, you know that a thing happened to me.  Like what happened to Jesus. Kind of. When I was a kid.  And when I was eleven...at Christmas...I was there...not here with my folks.”

 

“Oh,” Fran says, scooting closer to Dominique.  “Would something help?”

 

“A time machine?  And a miracle?” Dominique quips, laughing dryly.

 

“Well...I don’t have a time machine…” she ventures thoughtfully.  “But I think you’ve got your miracles in spades,” Fran says, nodding at the room at large.  At Mariana and Levi laughing as he puts on a Santa hat and offers her an elf one. At Pearl, snapping pictures.  

 

She thinks about Dominique’s parents surviving their child’s abduction.  Of Jesus and Dominique surviving abduction. Dominique and Mari surviving car accidents.  Pearl and Levi, here and happy. And Fran even thinks about herself, not expected to survive a premature birth.

 

Dominique considers the room.  Fran’s hand, extended in the small gap between them.  Takes it.

 

“I guess you’re right.”

 

\--

 

Presents are great and everything, but the real joy of Christmas is being able to just  _ be _ with her Avoider fam.  To stuff themselves on Michael’s meatloaf, Jaimie’s mac and cheese and Pearl’s chocolate cake.  

 

They’re all sprawled all over Mari and Levi’s living room, digesting, when Pearl gets antsy and asks if Levi and Mari would mind her commandeering the kitchen to make hot chocolate.

 

“We have a crockpot.  You can make a huge dose in that,” Mariana advises.

 

“Ooh, good thinking,” Levi agrees.  “I’ll help you get it.”

 

Fran trails them to the kitchen.  “Need an assistant?” she asks Pearl.

 

“Always.  Especially, if it’s you,” Pearl says, putting an arm around Fran warmly.

 

“Yay,” Fran says, smiling.  “I love your hot chocolate. And I haven’t gotten to help make it in forever.”

 

“Well, just so happens, I need something to do, and Michael keeps encouraging me toward the kitchen.”

 

“I’m still about as bad at math as I was the last time, though, sorry,” Fran apologizes.

 

“Oh, don’t worry about it.  I’ve made it so many times by now, it’s in my head.  I can just tell you.”

 

Fran breathes a small sigh of relief.  Why do little considerations always feel so huge?

 

Levi grunts and hefts their big crockpot out of the cupboard above the sink and sets it on the counter.  “When you’re done, just leave this. I’ll put it in the sink,” Levi offers. “Oh, hey, your phone,” Levi says - glancing down to where Fran left it - annoying T-Mobile-ringing from beside the bread.

 

“Just let it go to voicemail.”  The default ring means it’s either a telemarketer, her moms or a rando.  In any case...nobody Fran wants to talk to.

  
“I don’t think you wanna do that,” Levi encourages, holding the phone out to her.

 

Timothy’s face is on her screen.  A picture she’d found on the school website and saved with his number, when they exchanged them - so long ago now that Fran had all but forgotten.  She hadn’t changed his ring to anything recognizable because she’d been so sure he would never call.

 

Fran picks up the call, and mouths, “Mari” at Levi, hoping he can get the message.  Pearl busies herself with heating milk and gathering ingredients.

 

“Hello?” Fran says nervously, just as Mari comes up beside Francesca.  Fran shows the caller ID for a second and then puts it back to her ear.  

 

Levi offers them chairs. 

 

Mari offers a hand to hold.

 

“Francesca?  It’s Timothy.  I hope I’m not intruding,” he says, sounding apologetic.

 

“I know.  I mean, you’re not,” she winces, biting her lip.

 

Mariana squeezes her hand.  

 

“I just wanted to say Merry Christmas,” Timothy tells her.  “I won’t keep you.”

 

“But...would you?” Fran asks, feeling impossibly young.  “I mean, like, what if I  _ wanted  _ you to keep me?”

 

“Then, I’d love to stay on and talk.  Did you get the card?” he asks.

 

“I did.  It’s hanging on mine and my roommate’s wall with the other cards.  Zayn’s adorable.”

 

“Thank you.  You and your people look like a fun bunch,” Timothy says, and she can hear the smile in his voice.

 

This year was the first they’d done an Avoider Christmas card - picturing the whole group of them - Fran, Jesus, Mariana, Levi, Pearl and Dominique, plus Jaimie and Michael, plus Cleo, Ernie and Dudley.  It’s crowded and perfect, and everyone had consented to Fran sending one to Timothy.

 

“Yeah, they are,” Fran nods, smiling at Mariana.

 

“Are you having a good Christmas?” Timothy asks.

 

“Only the best ever,” Fran gushes.

 

“The best ever.  Wow. That’s amazing.  I’m so happy to hear that.”  And he does sound happy.

 

“How’s yours?” Fran asks, feeling awkward.

 

“Very nice,” Timothy confirms.  There’s a really long pause. “So, I was hoping that maybe after the New Year, you might like to give coffee another go?” Timothy asks.

 

“I would,” Fran nods.  “I really actually would.”

 

“Brilliant.  Merry Christmas, Francesca.  I’ll call next year,” he jokes.

 

“Okay,” Fran laughs.  “Merry Christmas, Timothy.”

 

\--

 

She hangs up the phone, and she and Mariana squeal. 

 

“Did you hear that?” Fran insists.

 

“Yes,” Mariana gushes.  “Oh, my God, Fran… I’m gonna cry…  This is incredible…”

 

“Thank you for being here,” Francesca tells her.  “I couldn’t have kept it together without you.”

 

“He sent you a Christmas card?” Mariana asks.

 

“You knew that,” Fran chides.  “It’s literally hanging on the wall right at eye level.”

 

“Yeah, but I don’t come over to your house.  I mean, I will. Just...not until it stops smelling like fumes.”

 

“I’m gonna go get it.  So, everybody can see,” Fran decides.  Over her shoulder, she adds: “And it doesn’t smell like paint anymore,” with a laugh.

 

\--

 

Fran’s gone and back slower than she wants to be, but everyone is still there, hanging out.  No one seems annoyed that they had to wait for her. And in the meantime, word has spread that Fran has something to share - but the news is still hers.

 

“So...Timothy just called me…” Fran’s smile is so big it feels like all her CP is probably showing, but who cares?  The Avoiders all love her CP anyway.

 

“What?  When?” Jaimie asks.

 

“Now.  Just, like, five minutes ago.  And he asked if I wanted to have coffee again after the New Year.”

 

“Wow, Francesca!  Come here, sweetie,” Jaimie invites, her arms open.  Fran goes into them, just absorbing Jaimie’s hug. “I am so happy for you.”

 

“I wanted to show you.  Well...all of you… This is Timothy.  His wife, Shanti, and their son, Zayn,” Fran says, showing Jaimie the card.

 

“Hey.  You got it for me, right?” Mariana teases.  “I wanna see this.”

 

“You already know what he looks like!” Fran ribs good-naturedly.  

 

“Well, yeah, but I haven’t seen his wife  _ or _ his adorable son…” Mari objects.

 

“Here,” Jaimie passes the card after taking her time studying it.

 

“Oh, my God.  Fran, I never noticed, but you look a little bit like him,” Mariana points out.

 

“Seriously?” Francesca asks.

 

“Yeah.  Wow, but it’s really the son.  Him at seven and you at seven? Well, you could be twins…” Mariana insists.

 

“No way…” Francesca denies.  “I don’t see it.”

 

“Then you don’t remember what you looked like.  Here,” Mariana goes clicking through her phone and stops on a picture from a million years ago.  Seven-year-old Francesca, smiling her head off with missing teeth and a cardboard flower around her face.  Fran remembers a little of that program, all about bugs. She’d been glad to be a flower.

 

Mariana snaps a picture, zoomed in on Zayn and then makes it so both appear side by side.

 

“That’s freaky,” Michael says, coming up behind them.  “Seriously, that’s like Twilight Zone stuff right there.”

 

“What’s the Twilight Zone?” Fran asks, confused.

 

“Let us see,” Dominique insists and Mariana passes her phone around while Fran travels with the card.  Everybody oohs and aahs, especially over the resemblance between Fran and Zayn.

 

“That’s kinda cute,” Levi says, seeing the pictures for himself.  “Fran and Zayn? You’d think it was planned or something. You guys do totally look like twins, BTW.”

 

“Let me see.  Mariana and I are the twin experts, thank you,” Jesus jokes, accepting the card and Mariana’s phone.

 

“Buddy, this is so awesome.  Look at this. You have a little bro.  How cool. Are you excited?” 

 

“Are you?” Fran asks, nervous.  “Because I don’t want you to think I don’t love you, just because I love Zayn…”

 

“Fran, I’m an adult.  I can handle my feelings about this.  I know that love grows with you. It’s not like there’s a limited space inside you for that.  I’m so happy for you. And I know you love me. Probably almost as much as I love you.”

 

“More,” Fran insists.

 

“Not possible,” Jesus says back, smirking.    “Seriously, you should meet this kid,” he says, holding out the Christmas card with Zayn’s face on it.

 

“Maybe, I will,” Fran sighs.  For once, she is totally happy.  “Maybe, someday, I will.”


End file.
